The two buyers at the horse fair
Two men went to the fair to buy a horse. The first fell for a magnificent grey — a coat like polished stone, a proud head, a seller who talked beautifully. He admired it from every angle, shook hands, counted out the coins and led it home by the light of his own happiness. He did not open its mouth. He did not lift a single hoof.
The second man liked a plainer bay in the next stall. Before he paid, he ran a hand down each leg, picked up each foot, looked in the mouth to read the teeth, and walked the animal up and down the yard to watch it move. Slower. Less romantic. He was, briefly, the least dashing man at the fair.
By spring the grey was lame — an old injury the seller had known about and the coat had hidden. The teeth, had anyone looked, told the truth about its age. The bay, meanwhile, was out working every morning. Same fair, same money, same afternoon. One man bought the horse he could see; the other bought the horse that was actually there.
Due diligence is looking in the mouth and lifting the hoof. A Spanish property, like that grey, shows you its coat — the terrace, the view, the light. Our job is to check the parts the coat is hiding, before the coins change hands, so what you take home is the property that’s actually there.

